


Sacrifices

by taichara



Category: Final Fantasy: Brave Exvius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:43:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: A simple expedition nearly serves the team an unpleasant surprise -- but there's been a better one lying in wait for quite some time.





	Sacrifices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalloway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalloway/gifts).



_Okay, I guess it's not the wierdest thing we've done in a while. Kind of relaxing, even -- but I don't know about all the picks Lasswell made here. Sword swingers with issues flock together, I guess? ___

__Well, there was nothing for it anyway but to keep on keeping on. It promised to be fairly sedate as expeditions went, so maybe there was nothing to worry about …_ _

____

-*-

Noel caught the look of dubiousness flitting across Lid's face -- for the uncountable-th time since their merry little band hooked up with the caravan -- and hid a smile with effort. He was sure he knew what she was thinking; they _were_ a motley group to take up playing guardsmen for a traveling merchantry, after all. But Rain and friends made good arguments about stocking up on magicite, and once Lasswell volunteered, well, Noel's decision was made easily enough.

_And I suspect Lid's here as much for the chance to poke under Rangifer's plates as anything else._

The others, though … Twisting on his perch with the creak of settling armour, Noel scanned along the line of the caravan until he marked them all. Zyrus was keeping to himself, one wagon down from Lid and Mechabo; there was another black mage trying to talk to him, poor soul. Lasswell should have been keeping pace with the lead wagon, but there was no sign of him … no, wait. There he was, falling back in the column to match Duane's stride. Even at a distance, Noel could see the surprise in the warmage's posture as Lasswell closed the distance between them. He sighed, and shook his head at no one in particular.

"I might be keeping a few pains secret for me and mine, but I see someone who needs to let a few go …"

Well, the first leg of the journey was almost finished. Once they weren't scouring road and forest for monsters, bandits and other trouble, Noel would just have to see what Duane might have to say.

-*-

The first drake's shriek split the air two hours out from the waystation. Five more arrowed after it, wings shimmering red and gold from the last of the light as the sun crept towards the horizon, and the caravan's chocobos screamed and fought against their harnesses as the scaly horrors moved in.

Lasswell whistled once, sharply. That was the signal they waited for. Noel banked away from the scattering wagons first, Rangifer a gleaming white and gold target charging straight towards the pack; he leaned down to give Zyrus a hand up in passing, ignoring the man's muttered curse as he hauled the mage high enough to clamber into the rear seat of the magitek machine. The others were a wedge of waiting pain, an inverted arrowhead with Duane and Lasswell taking point, Lid and her clockwork companion behind and between them. Distantly Noel marked the wagons hauling themselves into a defensive ring, the other caravan guards watching for another pack. All well and good, but --

_But eyes-front, now, silly fool, and let them do their jobs while you do yours!_

-*-

The skirmish was short, but bloody, which was to be expected, with both Zyrus and Duane on the field.

The lead drake -- also as expected -- dove for Rangifer and ate sharp-bladed frost and crawling magebolts for its trouble; the following pair snapped at Lid and found one's skull promptly stove in by hammer and heavy metal beak even as Lasswell plunged Purple Lightning into its companion's belly. The remaining trio, warier, circled once and belched acidic flames across the defender's formation that were barely deflected by Noel's hastily-cast silver curtain …

Then Noel saw Duane spit blood and curses, raked by the fires, and lunge for the closest of the beasts as he raced past, his blade alive with darkling power.

The beast aimed towards the cluster of wagons, calling to the other drakes with eager screams. Its companions, weeping ichor from battered scales -- Zyrus' draconic antipathy at work -- laboured to join it. Noel bit his lip and gave Rangifer more power; if the drakes picked up any speed at all only Rangifer, maybe, could catch them up --

Behind him, he heard Lasswell shout. A warning? He couldn't tell. Rangifer wheeled ponderously and Zyrus slid down from his perch instinctively to lighten the weight. Maybe, just maybe.

A wave of darkness tore past him and a roar of grief-stricken denial followed on its heels. Noel wrenched his machine back around a second time to see Duane start to crumple, soaked to the bone with blackened blood --

\-- and a seventh drake swooped down from rapidly darkening skies to tear him to pieces.

Duane did not look up. He did not lift his sword, nor make an effort to deflect the onrushing beast --

Noel heard the silently-mouthed words as if they were shouted in his ear. And denied them with every fibre of his being.

_Not on my watch!_

Rangifer's blunt prow gaped wide. Noel dragged the control yoke back viciously, canting the entire machine as high as its straining legs would allow, and let the whirling razor-sharp winds tear the wings from the hapless drake. 

A single swift bolt from Zyrus finished the beast. Good. Noel was busy retrieving a fallen knight.

-*-

Bundled up within an inch of his life, tucked snugly into a bedroll (with extra cloak tossed over him), Duane was almost sure he hadn't hurt like this in … well, since certain other events, anyway.

He hadn't expected to wake up at all. But here he was, tucked in and apparently fussed over like he … like he …

"… you …"

"I did, yes. Of course I did. It was never a question, you know that, right? As it's never been a question that I knew you'd be questioning me the moment you cracked your eyes open. So, here I am."

He'd _felt_ a looming shadow before he fully came back to his senses; know he knew why. It made no sense. No sense at _all_ , and Noel was looking down at him from his perch on a travel chest with naked concern in his eyes and just -- just -- _why_ \--

"… But I … they would have had to _see_ …"

"They didn't mind nor care, Duane, no more than we do, and none of us do. And surely, one hopes, you did see that, after all this time?"

Quietly spoken; intensely spoken. The white knight's eyes fairly blazed now and Duane felt an entirely different kind of despair trickle down his burning, aching spine because how could they have just accepted that …

"… It's tainted power. You must know that, if you know so much else."

It hurt to talk, and his head swam, but it didn't matter, because if they were going to be so foolish then he _had_ to speak. His hands tightened on the cloak.

"Tainted power that I used to kill --"

"The people who drove you to it after you sacrificed so much to dedicate yourself to him and to their cause. Murder, yes, but murder in passion, and you've suffered enough. You've made yourself suffer enough. Exactly the same way that --"

\-- a wry little smile tugged at the corner of Noel's mouth --

"-- _exactly_ the same way that you bleed yourself dry even now to use that power to fight for other people. I know what I see, Duane, we all do, and we _all_ know how you spend your life to fight."

"And that, after all, is why you're flat on your back."

Duane blinked; that last rueful comment did not come from Noel. No, it was Lasswell, leaning in the mouth of the tent with clear question in his face, brows knitting. The flash of red behind his shoulder was Lid, Duane, assumed. He watched as an unreadable look passed between Lasswell and Noel -- the one looking resigned and faintly guilty, the other almost cheekily serene -- and before he could ask what _that_ was all about Lasswell's attention was back to _him_ again. The knight shook his head once, making the doorframe dance slightly.

"The caravan master wants to talk to you once you're up for it, by the way. He'd like to thank the 'one who put his life on the line, literally'. Let me know when you think you want to see him -- the camp healer suggests at least a few more hours' sleep and we have all night before moving on. And, Duane?"

Pausing, Lasswell blinked, then shook his head again and sighed -- brought on by Lid pushing past him, shaking her fist and laughing. It was a weird combination, but alright --

"Don't do that again unless Fina's here or something! You could've died!"

"I …"

"Perhaps it's best to let the poor man rest before chewing him out over trying to throw himself away when we don't want him to?"

Noel's gentle chiding stopped Lid in her tracks; covering a flash of embarrassment with more laughter, she waved to Duane and beat a hasty retreat, with Lasswell a step behind her after offering Duane a salute that left the warmage wincing. Only once they were out of sight did Noel get up from his own perch. Duane rubbed shakily at one temple, more than a little overwhelmed by it all.

"… You all mean it."

"Of course."

Noel cocked his head, looking back over his shoulder; a faint sadness tinted his smile.

"And I know what it's like to die for someone else, strangers or no, on both sides of the equation. Don't make them go through that; don't put yourself through that.

"Stay with us. You're part of the team, you know?  
"Now, sleep up and just knock something over if you need anything, okay?"

And with that Noel padded out the door and drew the tentflaps carefully closed. 

Not that Duane slept right away; he had far too much to think about for that, pain or no pain.

But … there was another different pain now.

It felt good.

It felt _good_ , to be wanted again.


End file.
